


we’re royals, not beggars

by reylofics



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Death, F/M, Love, Murder, Murder Mystery, True Love, Unconditional Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-03-09 15:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylofics/pseuds/reylofics
Summary: mary hides the truth from francis after he does something horrible and all is well. this story is kind of rushed, but it’s semi-good, so give it a read? the ending is kind of amibiguous.





	we’re royals, not beggars

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to “stay frosty royal milk tea” and “hold me tight or don’t” by fall out boy while listening to this. their new album really isn’t as bad as everyone says it is. after all, it was good writing inspiration even tho this story didn’t quite turn out as well i wanted it to.
> 
> * tw for mentions of blood described in minor detail and a mention of alcohol/drunkenness (nothing further comes after this and/or is implied).

The Queen of Scots frowned at the rather absurd sight in front of her. Two unknown maids were running (rather fleeing) out of Francis’/their chambers, looking frightened out of their minds. Mary felt pity for them, but then realized that Francis—or whoever was in their chambers—had done something to scare the maids. She was determined to find out what it was.

Annoyed, she hitched up her royal gown with her fingertips and determinedly marched up to the now closed entrance of their chambers. Her nimble fingers untangled themselves from the gown as she let it fall it to the ground so that her free hands could knock on the door. Still, she hesitated. Mary waited for a second or two before knocking on the door.

“Off you go,” was the reply that she received from the other side of the room upon hearing her frantic knocks on the wooden door. It was clearly Francis. He sounded drunk out of his mind but then again, Francis never drank this early in the morning. Mary was quite concerned, to say the least.

“Francis, open the door,” she said quietly, but loud enough for her fiancée to hear. A few moments passed and then she heard some shuffling footsteps around the room. The bolts to the door were soon unlatched by Francis himself and Mary opened the door to see Francis scurrying back to his spot of secrecy in the corner of the room by the fireplace. In his spot of secrecy, Mary saw nothing but the shadow of his clothes, his face and body invisible to her plain eyes.

“Francis,” she tried again, gently. There was no answer. Mary spoke softly, but louder this time in saying, “Francis!”. Again, there was no reply. “Francis!” 

Mary was growing impatient with Francis’s refusal to speak and began to yell at him, trying to coax him into talking to her. 

After a couple of minutes that Mary spent yelling at Francis to no avail, Mary gave up trying to talk to her fiancée. She was about to leave when Francis spoke up.

“Mary,” he started, whispering softly, “wait.” Mary waited, still standing. Francis took a deep breath in and stood up, walking towards Mary.

Upon seeing the state that Francis was in, Mary gasped. His hair was disheveled and wild like a lion’s mane. His hands were dirty and soiled with dirt and blood.

That wasn’t even the worst of it. The shirt that Mary had gotten Francis for his birthday had crimson stains everywhere, accompanied by grass and dirt stains. She almost cried at how broken he looked. Francis no longer looked like a king; he looked like a beggar.

“Oh, Francis,” Mary sighed. “What have you done?”

Francis stood up and threw his bloodied arms out in exasperation, his white sleeves torn and ripped apart. “I don’t know!” he yelled, almost on the brink of tears. The King of France sat back down with this head between his hands. He looked either angry enough to pull out his hair or sad enough to cut it all off. Mary felt that it could go either way. 

“I don’t know,” repeated Francis. Quietly, he began to sob into his pale snow hands as his tears washed the red away. “All I know,” he said in between quiet sobs, “is that I woke up and you weren’t here. I remember going out with the guards and then waking up without you beside me, seeing another’s blood on me, and for a second I thought—,” he trailed off.

Mary didn’t hesitate to stop him from continuing his horrid thought. “No,” she declared firmly. “Look at me, Francis. Look at me.” She walked over to where he was at and pulled his face to hers. “I am here and you did nothing wrong. WE will figure this out together, and I promise that I will always stand by your side. But now, you need to bathe.”

At this, Mary gathered a collection of clean garments for him to wear when he washed the red off of his body and gently placed them on the bed for him to dress in after his bath.

Before she left, Mary solemnly pressed her forehead against his and they stood like this for a while. She pecked his lips and hitched her skirt, planning to investigate more while he bathed. Hurriedly, she exited out their chambers and to the right, to question the guards who had accompanied Francis off the grounds and into the forest. On her way out, she caught the maids whispering to each other and staring at her as if she were some wild animal or worse, the King’s mistress. Holding her head high, she briskly walked past them and held back the tears that were threatening to fall. After all, she was the Queen and had business to attend to. She was never to let anyone who wasn’t a member of the Royal Court see her cry.

The Queen turned the corner and found the two guards who had escorted Francis. They appeared to be held in a deep conversation with each other, giving Mary the chance to collect her composure. When she felt ready enough to speak, she cleared her throat. Apparently, the guards were too engrossed in what seemed to be a fascinating discussion with each other about whether or not Catherine was turning mad like her deceased husband. “Ahem, gentleman!” Mary said abruptly.

The two guards pulled away from each other, pink in the face from being caught by the Queen talking about the former Queen. “Yes, your majesty?” replied the first guard, nervously.

Mary narrowed her eyes at him. “You escorted my husband, the KING, off the premises this morning, did you not?”

This time, it was the second guard who spoke up. “Yes, we did. Your majesty.” At this, both guards bowed with respects to their Queen in frantic attempts to divert her attention from their earlier conversation.

Mary acknowledged their respect, but was still curious to know more. She asked a question that she wasn’t even sure she wanted the answer to: “Did my husband kill someone in the forest?”

The guards exchanged nervous glances and neither was sure exactly what to say. Almost simultaneously, they both blurted out their answer. “He—Your Majesty, he killed someone in the forest. We don’t know who it was or why he did it, but all we know is that we encountered another man in the forest and your husband sliced him without any mercy. Your Majesty.”

The Queen of Scots turned and walked away in a composed manner, tears anxiously flooding the brim of her eyes. When she turned the corner, she ran and ran until her legs gave out, past the maids and the guards, somehow finding herself standing before Catherine de Medici’s chambers. On cue, the doors to Catherine’s chambers were opened by Catherine herself. “Mary?” She feigned surprise, but her expression darkened significantly when she saw Mary crying.

Silently, Catherine invited Mary in behind closed doors and Mary followed. Although they had their differences, Catherine still cared for Mary in some sort of way because of Mary’s attachment to her son. “My dear, what happened?”

The Queen of Scots explained everything to the King of France’s mother, including the mad expression Francis had when showing her his sliced up arms, and the nervous look on the guard’s faces when they told her what Francis had done. When she finished, she sniffled and blew her nose into her sleeve. Catherine was too shocked to reprimand her for it.

“Mary, my darling, you cannot tell Francis what he did.” Mary started to object, but Catherine interrupted. “No, if he finds out what he did, he will never forgive himself, and that would benefit no one. He needs something else to believe, Mary. Someone else to believe. Tell him that he merely went out and hunted a rabbit or something of the sort.” Catherine turned to Mary with fear in her eyes. “Please,” she pleaded.

Mary bit her lip and looked down. She refused to meet Catherine’s eyes as she stood up, turning to move away from Catherine’s chambers and to Francis. “You can’t let him hate himself,” reminded Catherine as Mary left, hoping that her words were getting through.  
-  
The young queen slowly walked through the halls, pausing at her chambers. It was dangerously quiet.

Fearfully, she pushed the doors to her chambers open and was relieved to see Francis sitting on the bed with clean clothes.

“Mary!” he exclaimed, with a bright smile. “Is all well?”

His wife faked a crooked smile. “Yes, dear Francis. All is well. You merely went out hunting and happened to catch a rather large bison. Barbaric, certainly, but hardly anything to fuss about it.” She laughed and Francis started to join her in his laughter. It was better if they pretended that everything was ok and that nothing had happened this morning.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a kudos/comment! much love to everyone who even reads this. 
> 
> update: this story was originally posted on january 26th, 2018 but some parts of the story have been rewritten and revised for literary purposes.


End file.
